A/N: In the Experiments timeline, this occurs between Hotel Breakfast and Putting on a Show (Chapters 21 and 22).
John had always had a thing for corsets. It was probably a side effect of too many historical BBC dramas on the telly when he was growing up. He'd offhandedly brought it up when Sherlock had mentioned wanting to be restrained, hoping it would intrigue Sherlock as much as it did him. It had garnered a raised eyebrow, which was all the permission and encouragement John needed.
He'd wanted it to be a surprise, so he decided to start simply – without taking multiple measurements. Many of the high end corset designers had models for men. These stopped below the chest, but took into account the different waist heights between the sexes. All he needed, at least at this stage, was a waist measurement. Needless to say, Sherlock wasn't much for doing the washing, so John already knew it. Subtract four inches and place the order. There wasn't much to it.
It arrived in the post about a week later. He nonchalantly hid the box in his room to examine later.
It was a deep blue satin with a delicate silver leaf design. There were fourteen steel stays that gave it strength and rigidity. It laced in the back, and it used a steel busk closure in the front. These were like rivets that slotted into u-shaped steel closures – they allowed the corset to be put on or removed without completely undoing the lacing.
John couldn't have been happier with the purchase. The colour of it was going to contrast so nicely with Sherlock's pale skin. Just thinking about it made his mouth water.
Sherlock was between cases, and bored. He was lying on the settee, idly flipping through a copy of Forensics Monthly.
"John, what are you doing up there?"
Caught. Well, no time like the present, for the present, as it were.
He went downstairs holding it behind his back. "I got you a present, love."
One eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Oh, the box you squirreled away in your room?"
So much for nonchalant. He decided to ignore the comment. "It's a corset." He held it out for Sherlock to examine.
"Oh, John." Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes. "It's lovely." He began to examine it like he would a corpse, his long slender fingers moving in fascination over the smooth fabric and steel boning. He held it up to his face and moved it slowly down his cheek, his mouth open a fraction and his eyes closed, drinking in the feel of it.
With that look on his face, it was all John could do not to push him to the settee and take him right there. Instead, he straddled Sherlock's legs and started working on the buttons of his shirt.
Sherlock was still examining the corset, now playing with the long laces on the back. It laced from the top and the bottom, meeting at long loops in the centre of the back.
John made quick work of the shirt and paused for a second to admire the toned expanse of Sherlock's chest. This is going to be sublime. God, I hope he enjoys this. I know I'm going to. "Stand up."
John removed Sherlock's trousers. No pants, no surprise there. Sherlock smiled at him. He was already getting hard. "Put your arms up for a sec." John grabbed each end of the corset, and wrapped it around Sherlock's waist, connecting it at the steel busk in the front. The colour was perfect against his skin. The top of the corset left his nipples pleasantly exposed. The bottom of the corset curved over the top of his hips and gently dipped towards his groin. Oh, yes.
Sherlock watched John's face with amusement. His respiration is up, and he's blushing. He was getting as turned on by this as Sherlock was.
The laces, already loosened beforehand, allowed John to easily close the front of the corset. "Ready?"
"Yes, John." His voice sounded a little ragged.
John smiled. He'd never done this, but he'd discussed it in great detail with the corset designer, and he knew what to do. "Turn around, love, and brace yourself against the wall." Starting from the top, and alternating with the bottom, he pulled the slack out of the laces. He fed the slack towards the loops in the centre. "How are you, love?"
"Oh… This is…" Sherlock paused. "I can see why you put this in the 'restraint' category."
"We're not done yet. Are you braced? I'm going to tighten the laces."
Wrapping the laces around one hand, and steadying his other hand on Sherlock's waist, he started to pull the laces slowly tighter. He didn't want to cause any burns on Sherlock's pale skin. The corset tightened. Sherlock's already small waist got smaller. It made his arse look even more spectacular than it normally did. "God Sherlock, you're gorgeous. How's your breathing? Are you doing okay?"
"Oh John…" His breaths seemed slightly laboured. "Make it tighter."
John smiled. He's enjoying it. He pulled harder on the laces, and Sherlock's waist assumed the beautiful wasp-shaped curves associated with corsetry. Holy fucking hell. This man's body was made for a corset. The normally well-defined expanse of arse was even more well-defined now. It made John's mouth water. Still holding on to the laces, John traced the curve along Sherlock's side, marvelling at the shape of it. "How's that?"
"Just a little tighter."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, it feels exquisite. Make it tighter. Please."
Jesus. Who was he to refuse? He braced himself against Sherlock and once again tightened the laces. "Still okay?"
"Yes. Oh, god, yes."
John knotted the laces into a bow, and turned Sherlock to face him. Sherlock had a look of sheer wonder on his face. "John, this is sublime." John couldn't have agreed more. "It feels like breath play. I can still breathe, but only shallow breaths. It's like full body bondage. It's exquisite."
John looked at him, his eyebrows raised and lips pressed together in that look of "I've never seen anything quite like this" that he so often got.
Sherlock stood in front of him, naked except for the corset. He was flushed, his pupils were completely blown, and he was ridiculously hard.
John was in much the same state. "You have to see yourself, love. You look amazing." John took his hand and led him to the window. The darkness outside acted as a mirror, and Sherlock was never one to forgo a little exhibitionism.
The corset dipped down slightly into the nest of dark curls at the base of his erection. His cock jutted out in front of the silky fabric of the corset. Sherlock's nipples were small, pink buds, contrasting nicely with the dark blue satin. He was stunning. But the real treat was the view from behind.
"Turn around, love. You have to see your arse. Oh, fucking hell." John was reduced to little unidentifiable noises and started chewing on his knuckles. With his other hand, he steadied Sherlock as he turned around and looked back to see the other view. John watched Sherlock's expression in the window as he saw his reflection. Sherlock's eyebrows rose in surprise.
Sherlock had known on an intellectual level that he had a nice arse. John had mentioned it on many occasions. He had not, however, until this moment, realised the magnificent splendour of it. The laces of the corset formed a lovely criss-cross pattern of black against his pale skin, pointing directly down to the crack of his arse. His arse cheeks blossomed around it, highlighting the narrowness of his satin-clad waist. It did, he had to admit, look spectacular.
John couldn't restrain himself any longer, and pulled him in for a kiss. He forgot, for a moment, that the corset prevented Sherlock from bending at the waist. Sherlock made a small surprised sound, falling towards John as the corset pressed against him. John caught him and kissed him passionately. When they pulled apart, they were both breathing hard – John in deep gulping breaths and Sherlock in small shallow breaths.
"What do you think John?" The look on Sherlock's face left nothing to the imagination. The only question was how.
"Oh god, yes."
Sherlock, with the sort of impeccable posture he'd never had in his life, slowly made his way up the stairs. "Now I know why you never see drawings of Victorian women curled up in chairs."
John looked at Sherlock and looked at the bed. "Which would you prefer? I think our position options are, um, limited." Sherlock knew precisely which position would both complement the corset and completely undo John; he crawled onto the bed and positioned himself on his hands and knees. He was right.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock." John was tearing off his clothes like a man possessed.
Sherlock doubled up the pillows beneath his hands, positioning him a little higher so he could breathe more easily.
The bed dipped as John crawled behind Sherlock. "Holy fuck. You look amazing." His hands were all over him, moving over his satin-clad waist and his even-more-glorious-than-usual arse. He dipped his head and started enthusiastically tonguing Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock hadn't been expecting this and let out a low groan. John's hands were kneading Sherlock's arse cheeks as he spread them to get better access. His tongue thrust inside Sherlock's hole, causing a small "unf" from the other end of the bed. Sherlock was gasping in short, shallow breaths. "Damn it, John… I need… you… to fuck… me."
John was never one to refuse an invitation, and grabbed the lube. He slicked himself up, and pushed himself into Sherlock in one long, slow slide.
"Nngggh… Feels… amazing."
Giving him a second to adjust, John ran his hands over his lover's wasp-like waist, and then clenched at his arse again. He started to pull back, and then thrust himself back in, hard.
John gazed at his lover's back as he fucked him. The laces made such lovely patterns against his skin. The laces. Oooh, the laces. He smiled. He grabbed the laces in one hand and used them for leverage, pulling Sherlock back hard against him. Waist bondage.
Sherlock moaned. He's holding onto the laces like they're goddamned reins. Oh dear lord, if he keeps this up, I'm going to come all over the sheets without so much as a hand on my cock. The pressure in his arse, the pressure encircling his waist, the pressure of John pulling on the laces, the inability to draw a full breath – all of these contributed to the sensory overload of being fucked halfway into next week while wearing a corset.
The corset, while not making things physically much different for John, was certainly contributing its own mindfuck to the proceedings. Seeing Sherlock like this undid John in ways he couldn't even begin to explain, and he was pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with the BBC. He pounded into him, trying to deepen his angle to hit Sherlock's prostate.
Sherlock felt the sudden shock of electricity go through him, and his arms almost collapsed from the pleasure. "Oh god John, there."
John's sweat-slicked skin smacked against Sherlock's arse as he felt himself get closer to release.
A litany of moans and words that might have been English escaped Sherlock's mouth. "Harder."
John felt Sherlock shudder beneath him as he was overcome. That was all it took to do him in as well, coming deep inside Sherlock. They both stayed in that position for a minute, trying to catch their breath. Sherlock was trying harder than John. John's head cleared and he realised Sherlock was still laced up and would probably appreciate a few deep breaths. He pulled out of Sherlock, earning a moan for his efforts. He undid the knotted bow and loosened the laces. Sherlock immediately breathed deeply like he hadn't done so in weeks. He carefully took Sherlock's weight and laid him on his back, away from the mess on the sheets. He undid the busk at the front, allowing the corset to fall to the side.
Sherlock had a transcendent look on his face. "Thank you, John. That was incredible."
John smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I know I did." John kissed him and got up to grab some towels. Sherlock shifted so he was lying on his stomach, a lazy grin on his face. When John came back in, he gasped a little.
"What is it?"
"The laces, the stays – you can see them on your skin – indentations where they were. It's lovely." Entranced, John traced the lines with his fingers as Sherlock moaned contentedly under his warm hands.
John kissed his neck and lay down beside him. "So, this was a success then?"
The only reply he got was a warm moan.